Wreckage
by SizzlR
Summary: Bobbie Fletcher is left hospitalized after a major car wreck. This is the start of a one shot series, so the title and summary will change eventually.


**Hey everyone! I wanted to write this for a very long time, but I just now got over my writers block on it. I'm hoping that this could be the start of a story, with a lot of one shots of minor TLH characters. To start off, I chose Bobbie Fletcher from Snow Way Out. If you have any suggestions for other minor characters I should do, comment! Thanks for reading!**

Bobbie Fletcher was quiet. Despondent, if you will. As in, not answering anyone, refusing the nurses help, the whole shebang. Nothing helped.

When you're in a hospital bed, you can either do one of two things: mope or cry. Crying wasn't Bobbies thing. She had never been one to show emotions growing up… she settled for moping.

A nurse walked in to the room, placing another card down by her bedside. This one was a crude drawing of her clad in full racing gear, standing next to a little girl in overalls.

"Another one for you, Miss Fletcher. Young girl from Michigan."

She didn't answer. Not today, probably not tommorow, maybe never again. The nurse looked at her almost pitifully before leaving the room, leaving her absorbed in her self regret.

Truth be told, she didn't really know what had happened. The Burpin' Burger 400 was winding into the final laps, she was a solid 6th place… the back of her car gave way, and the rest of the story was lying in a hospital bed with two broken legs and a major concussion. Apparently her helmet had been defective, too… stupid Danny.

Now, she laid there and listened to doctors before every minor surgery and operation, how they said she'd probably never be able to USE a car again… there was talk of amputation. That scared her even more than the idea of an early retirement. She could live with not racing, but not having legs?

The doctor entered the room once again that day, a large black man with a handlebar moustache and curly hair. She didn't make eye contact. She wasn't racist by a long shot, but growing up in backwoods Tennessee did affect your views on certain people. Specifically, blac- African Americans.

"Well, Miss Fletcher, would you like the good news or the bad news first?"

Silence. The doctor uncomfortably coughed, then continued.

"Well, umm… I'll give you the good news first. Your concussion isn't nearly as bad as first thought. We're going to be placing you in minor concussion protocal, along with…"

The words gradually became fuzzier. She shifted in her bed, careful not to move her cast covered legs.

"The bad news… your left femur and right tibia are much worse than originally thought. The femur is completely snapped. It's honestly a miracle we were able to save it, Miss Fletcher. You are incredibly lucky to have two legs right now."

She wasn't sure, but she could have swore she rolled her eyes. Lucky, her ass… if she was lucky, she'd be out of here by now driving in this week's race. There was a whole tribute to her before the thing, which only proved to make her more depressed.

And of course, the doctor was talking about surgery again… perfect.

"Also… you have a visitor."

Her eyebrows raised. She hadn't received a visitor since she got to the stupid hospital a week ago.

"Yes, he says he's been planning on coming for a while, but he finally got around to it. Mr Stevenson?"

Oh, boy… Dale Stevenson, number 67, driving the Food & Fuel branded Ford. Also her boyfriend.

He walked… Err, rolled into the room. Conveniently enough, he was the one that had caused the accident in the first place.

"Hey, Babe."

Silence.

"Err… I'll leave you two alone," the doctor said as he stepped out. Dale rolled over to his girlfriends bedside, remorse in his eyes.

"How're you feeling, hun?"

"Fine."

"...Really?"

"Yeah."

Dale raised an eyebrow, inching himself closer to his girlfriends bedside.

"Bobbie, you know you can be honest with me, right?"

She didn't answer immediately. She stated straight ahead as she turned the rooms television on. Spongebob was the featured program of the day… oh well. It would at least drown out Dale.

"Bobbie, you can't ignore me. Turn the TV off, hun."

"No."

He glared at her, not with anger, but sadness. On the 3 years he had known her, Bobbie was never this quiet.

He reached over suddenly, and without a major struggle, turned the TV off.

"Dale!" she yelled, whipping her head towards him. Her leg moved slightly, and she flinched.

"Bobbie, you're gonna listen to me, alright? I'm not gonna let you-"

"Give me the remote, Dale. NOW."

"I will, just listen to me!"

She lunged her hands towards him, and without Dale knowing what had happened, Bobbie had him in a death grip around his neck.

"YOU listen to ME, DALE!" She yelled, spitting out her words. "YOU almost KILLED ME! You have NOTHING to talk to me about!"

"H-Hun!" he said as he choked. "L-listen to-"

"Shut up, Dale! SHUT! UP!"

She let go, forcefully pushing him away. He fell backwards into his chair, knocking over her card that was on the nightstand. He regained his breath, and backing away slightly, began to talk again.

"Bobbie Louise Fletcher, you know as WELL as I do that I wouldn't try to hurt you! The car got away from me, alright?!"

"NO! Not alright! Do you know what the doctors said, Dale?! Do you know?!"

He paused. After a second, he feebly shaked his head.

"They said that I could LOSE MY LEGS! Do you understand that?! LOSE! THEM! As in, NEVER WALK AGAIN?!"

He didn't answer. Instead, he put his head down, counting to himself to keep calm.

"You ruined my career!" she shouted at him, tears beginning to well up in her eyes. "YOU almost got me killed, YOU crushed my legs! I MIGHT NEVER WALK AGAIN, DALE!"

"Bobbie, please…"

"I HATE YOU!" She screamed, leaning as far forward as her crippled legs would let her. "YOU'RE A SELFISH BASTARD AND I HOPE YOU DIE! YOU CAN GO TO HELL AND-"

"BOBBIE!"

She shut her mouth as Dale sat open mouthed in his chair. He began to mouth words, but no sound came out. Nurses had come into the room when they heard the yelling, but he had shooed them away.

Bobbie sat fuming in her bed as Dale finally managed to stutter.

"I-I-I"

"Come on! Spit it out, you bastard! I don't have all day!"

He finally did, yelling.

"I'M SORRY! THERE, I SAID IT!"

He threw himself into his chair, crumbling down like a snowman in the rain. It was Bobbies turn to sit open mouthed, doing just that as Dale began… began to cry.

Cry. Dale Stevenson, the 'Iron Hog' of MASCAR, the so called toughest man on the planet, the person Bobbie had never, EVER seen give an ounce of humility to ANYONE… was crying.

"Dale…" she said, almost a whisper. "You've never said sorry. To anyone…"

"I know, I know…" he said, wiping a tear away. "I'm so sorry, Bobbie… I didn't mean to hurt you… I just, I just saw an opening, and I went for it, a-and…"

And as Dale began to sob into the corner of her hospital blanket, Bobbie Fletcher couldn't help but start to cry, too. Pretty soon, she was sobbing as hard as her boyfriend was.

They cried for what seemed like forever, as if they were trying to outdo the other. Nurses and doctors passed, not paying attention or stopping to check. Other patients needed much more than a crying session at the moment.

Finally, Dale pulled away, and Bobbie followed, wiping a tear from her eye.

"I almost killed you, Bobbie," he said, taking deep breaths to calm himself. "If I had… I wouldn't be able to do this. I wouldn't have forgiven myself. And I'm not for this, either…"

"Dale…"

"I can't!" he said, turning to her. "I hurt you! I almost took your legs off, Bobbie! How the hell am I supposed to ignore that?!"

"I don't know…" she admitted as Dale rolled himself closer to the bed.

"When you were mad a few minutes ago? That was all the truth, Bobbie. I am a selfish bastard… I cared too much about winning that stupid race to even care about YOU. And you know what? I'm not gonna do it again."

Bobbie sat up, her eyes widening. She knew what Dale was implying there, and she didn't like it one bit.

"Dale Stevenson, you are NOT giving up racing! You hear me?!"

"Yep. I am. And I don't care about your opinion here, Bobbie."

"DALE! I swear to God, if you even tell me-"

"I'm done, Bobbie. I handed in my retirement papers to the front office today. I'm never gonna race again… and I don't want to."

She sat dumbfounded ad Dale buried himself in his chair. He had always told her he would race until he was in his 40s… he was 26 right now. Too young to retire…

"Dale, you're gonna go there and take it back! I'm not letting you do this!"

"No!" he said, angrily looking up. "I'm not doing it! You said it yourself, Hun! I can't do it anymore! I don't want to hurt anyone else, Bobbie!"

"DALE KYLE STEVENSON-"

"Drop it, Bobbie!" he said, sitting up. "You can't convince me! I'm hanging it up! And if you were smart, you would too!"

He instantly regretted his choice of words. Bobbie glared at him with a mixture of anger and disgust before laying down and facing forward again.

Dale sat back, satisfied. He was done hurting people… he had never liked racing, anyways. He was a competitive person, but racing was never his specialty. Baseball, however…

Still, as he looked at his once again despondent girlfriend, he regretted the things he said. Sure, he may have been retiring… and honestly? It was the best option for her to retire. She was 24 and already one of the richest ladies in the states! She could be happy for the rest of her life and never have to work another minute, another SECOND!

But… she loved racing. He knew that...

"Bobbie, do you remember how we met?"

She didn't respond at first. Dale was about to repeat himself when she turned her head to the side, barely making eye contact with him.

"Yeah. Why?"

He moved closer again, making sure to keep his eyes on her.

"I want you to tell me. How we met, I mean."

After a few seconds of thinking, she told him.

"Well… you were 8 and I was 6, I think. You were playing with your toy trucks, and… and I asked to play with you."

"And?"

"And… uhh, you told me… your dad was a racecar driver?"

"Yep... and?"

"-sigh- Dale, that's all I remember. Swear to God."

"Bobbie, you know it isn't right to lie to God," he said matter of factly. "You're forgetting the most important part…"

She sighed, as if she hadn't known the answer all this time and was purposely hiding it.

"You and I… always used to crash the cars together."

He clapped his hands together and pointed at her with a grin.

"YES! My favorite part!"

"Dale, if this is some stupid story…"

"Now hold on!" he said, looking down. "I know you're gonna try and fight me here, but hear me out!"

She sighed, sitting back. She WOULD get up and leave, but of course, her legs wouldn't take that too well.

"Well…" he started, moving his hands to keep up with himself. "I was thinking. While you were angry at me, you know… maybe… maybe this isn't a coincidence?"

She looked at him, more confused than she was angry.

"I know, I know, crazy. But listen… we always used to tell each other wed be racers. We always did, and look at us now. I mean, not RIGHT now, you know…"

"I get the gist…"

"Yeah, yeah… we always liked crashing them together, you know? And maybe… that was a sign? That we would end up here eventually! A-and, nows the perfect time to stop it! We're both rich, Bobbie! We can walk away and be completely happy with ourselves! We can get that house we talked about, in, uhh…"

"Mississippi…"

"Yeah! Jackson, Mississippi! And we can have our pets! Two dogs, three cats, and a parakeet! It's not impossible, Bobbie! We can DO it!"

He leaned closer and put his head down on her shoulder. She let him, making sure not to move.

"Bobbie, please retire," he said, looking at her from her shoulder. "We can be happy together now… we'd never have to worry again! Because you and I…"

He got his head off her shoulder, and sitting back, placed his hand on her upper thigh.

"You and I… we're a team! And teams, well, stick together! So… what's the answer?"

She didn't answer immediately. She couldn't; Dale was asking her to choose between two different lives here. One was fame and more fortune, with happiness. The other was a family life… he hadn't said it, but she knew Dale wanted kids. He always talked about having them...

She sighed, looking at Dale with a sad look in her eyes. She knew what she had to say.

"Dale… I can't. I love you, I do, but… racing is a PART of me, you know? It's who I AM! I can't give it up before I feel it's right… and now? I still have to PROVE something… you may not have to, but me? I DO!"

She reached over a picked up one of the cards from her nighstand, reading it out loud:

 _Dear Bobbie Fletcher,_

 _I met you in person in my town last winter. You let me be on your pit crew and I was so happy. I saw your accident on TV yesterday. I was really scared when they took you out in the ambulance, but I think you are the best racer ever in the whole world, and you are gonna be better from this! Get better, Bobbie!_

 _-Lana L._

Bobbie put the letter down, looking at her boyfriend with fierce confidence in her eyes.

"I have so many fans, so many little girls that wouldn't watch racing for any other reason except for ME. What would I be saying to them if I just quit right now?"

Dale didn't respond. The answer was pretty obvious.

"It wouldn't be good, right? I'm sorry, Dave, but you have to wait for me to finish on MY terms. Not like this, do you understand?"

He nodded. He knew he had been beaten by her.

"-sigh- Bobbie, I'd be lying if I said I didn't expect that."

She raised her eyebrows, crossing her arms in expectance.

"Oh?"

"You've always been like this. Stubborn… and I never get tired of it. I support you, Hun. One hundred percent."

She smiled, and held her hands out for his embrace. It didn't come, though.

"Which leaves me one other thing. I'm not changing my mind, Bobbie. I'm never racing again, and even you can't change that. But when I DO, I'm not gonna be able to see you everyday like usual."

"Yeah? So?"

"So…" he said, reaching around his waist to his back pocket. "I figured, to fix that, there was only one solution…"

Before Bobbie Fletcher knew what was happening, Dale was out of his wheelchair and on one knee, holding a small diamond ring in a black velvet box.

"Bobbie Louise Fletcher, will you marry me?"

Her hands were at her mouth faster than ever before. She didnt speak; she couldn't. But after a few seconds, through a fresh set of tears, she nodded. Bobbie Fletcher was to be Bobbie Stevenson.

Dale got up and sat back down, a goofy grin of happiness on his face.

"You know, I WOULD kiss you right now, but the Doc says I shouldn't be too ready to move…"

"Same…" she choked out. Dale, for the second time that day, began to tear up as he laid his head down on Bobbies shoulder.

"I love you, Bobbie…"

"I love you, too…"

And to herself, Bobbie smiled quietly.

Life would be alright after all...


End file.
